Witch Killer
by merrygreen
Summary: Glinda the Good has gone bad and Tin Man travels to Kansas to find Dorothy, who Oz hopes will be able to free them.
1. Chapter 1

Tin Man stared up at the balloon that towered above him. It swayed and tugged against the basket, which was firmly moored to the earth. The fire in its belly roared and flared against the darkness. If only Scarecrow could see his brainchild. He sighed, his heart aching, and looked around one last time.

A sorry last sight of Oz. The old witch's castle, crumbling after two centuries of disuse. All that lived here now were wild things: bats and owls and dark creatures. But it was the only safe place in all of Oz for him and his friends. What a bitter irony.

"Tin Man, you ready?" Lida called from the basket where she was doing a last second check of their stores. He glanced up, but she was hidden by the side of the basket; she could barely see over it on her tip-toes. She was a young munchkin, still in her garden years. And among the last of her kind.

"Coming Lida. Where's Sing?"

The answering screech told him the winged monkey was waiting for them up among the remains of the rafters, which had been cleared for their ascent. But suddenly the cry grew terrified, desperate.

"Tin Man!" Lida's scream came as he turned, as he saw the witchmonger darting through the ruins. There, another one, higher. Terror for Lida and Sing pulsed through Tin Man's heart.

"Lida, go! Take off!" He started running, but he was too slow, too old. Years of rust and polish eventually left permanent damage. His joints were decaying; some spots of the softer metal were becoming thin and brittle.

"No!" Her cry wavered, muffled by the basket. An arrow struck and bounced off him and he lurched forward from its weight. The witchmonger was on him, its wet hands groping. Suddenly it let out a nasty scream and leapt away and Sing was lifting him up as he made the last lunge for the basket. He tumbled in, his weight shuddering through the structure. They were up, they were out of reach, they were away. A last few arrows pecked into the basket's impenetrable side. But they were free.

Sing collapsed into the bottom of the basket, his wings trembling. Lida leaned against Tin Man's side, as though needing the feel of him to assure her that he was really there.

Finally she caught her voice. "Are you all right?"

"Sure, a little arrow won't hurt me. I'm made of steel, dear."

She let herself laugh a little at his lightheartedness. "Sing?" He looked up from where he lay, and gave a monkey grin of assent.

Then they were relieved. They had made it! Years of secret work, of hard living, of constant vigilance had come to fruition. They could rest, they could rejoice. But only for a moment. The drakks would be out for them as soon as the witchmongers returned empty-handed. And of course there was the matter of steering.

Lida rose to her feet and pulled the map out from its capsule. She lay it out on the table, each of them taking a corner to hold it down. It was a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy Scarecrow had found of the Wizard's map, so many years ago. A map to Kansas.

* * *

**November 1968**

The TV blared from the living room. Ray was half-way listening to the news, and half-way working on his watch. He'd broken it yesterday, at work. She glanced at the screen from where she stood in the kitchen making their Saturday afternoon sandwiches.

She glanced out the window. It was drizzling lightly. Soon it would turn to sleet, and then snow, if the temperature fell a few more degrees. Typical weather for late November.

Her mind drifted with her gaze. She remembered it snowing once a long time ago, barely a memory now. Snowing in a poppy field. Her brain worked its way slowly back to the dream. A childhood dream. The only dream she could remember from being a kid. It still struck her sometimes that it had _only_ been a dream.

She started humming half-consciously. The song was real at least. She remembered her mother singing it to her. That was a _very_ long time ago. It would be nice to have a magic rainbow these days.

"I got it!" Ray shouted abruptly, jumping up from his stool at the table. He tripped and stumbled back, catching the edge of the table and grinning ridiculously.

She laughed. "Don't fall and break it again."

"Oh I won't, I won't!" he assured her. He shuffled to the counter next to her and held out the watch for her to see. It was an attractive piece of jewelry, the insides visible behind the glass front. The once dead hands now turned slowly about its face. 11:11

Someone tapped on the door. "I'll get it!" He pranced away and tripped on the throw rug in the parlor. She stifled a chuckle at his enthusiastic curse, and the perfectly cheerful greeting that followed a moment later. Then she froze at the voice that answered.

It must have been a coincidence, her mind tricking her. Déjà vu. She let out her breath and continued dicing the onion she'd been working on. Ray was talking again, his voice startled. Oddly startled. Like he was trying to hide how shocked he was, but failing because he never had attained a poker face.

"Yeah, she's – come on in – she's in the kitchen. Dor!" he called. She could hear them coming in. "Some visitors for you – "

She had turned around. She had seen him. Her heart found its way into the bottom of her throat. Her legs felt like slush. There was no way –

"Dorothy?"

It was him. She was going mad. She had _lost_ her mind.

"Ray," her voice barely came out. Then she went even more crazy. Because coming into the room behind him were a munchkin and a winged monkey. She felt the counter jab into her back as she fell. Her arms flailed out, barely catching her.

"Dorothy!" Ray was at her side, lifting her up, his voice panicked.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" She forced herself to steady, to focus. "Tin – Tin Man?"

His face was frozen in a look of shock, worry. "Dorothy, is it really you?"

She nodded. "Is it really _you_?"

"Yes, I – I – this is Lida, and Sing. We need you. Oz needs you."

"Oz?" Ray's words echoed her thoughts. "What – what is this?"

"Ray, I need you to – um – Can I speak to our guests alone?"

He looked at her, his mouth open, shocked. "What? No! I'm not leaving you like this. With – with – " He trailed off, casting a trepidatious glance at Tin Man.

"It's fine, Dorothy, he can stay and listen," said Tin Man.

"Well then perhaps we should sit down. I think this is to much to process on my feet," she said, her attempt at jest falling flat. Still, she lowered herself to the table. Ray, Lida, and Tin Man settled down next to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I thought you were a dream," she laughed breathlessly. "How did you get here? And where's – where are Scarecrow, and Lion?" A look of pain crossed his face. "Oh, no."

"It's been a hundred years since you left, Dorothy. They were just old. I'm made of a bit stronger stuff, I'm afraid."

"A hundred – but I'm only thirty-one! What – I can't even think about that! How did you find me? How did you get here, from Oz?"

"We replicated the Wizard's balloon and made our way here. Scarecrow had found a map of the Wizard's to Kansas. Once we landed – in some field – we asked the closest person and he knew your family, and that you were living in Lawrence."

"But why are you here? What happened?"

"Too much. It's why we've come for you, Dorothy. Glinda's gone bad."

"Glinda? The good witch of the North? But she was – she was at the Emerald City when I left, she was good."

"Yes, yes, I know. I was there, remember? But she's changed. After you left I was given control of the castle of the witch of the West, Scarecrow of the East, and Lion of the wilderlands and faraway mountains. Glinda returned to her realm in the North, but maintained her influence in the Emerald City, which you know is the center of Oz, and so in a way its capital.

"After the Mayor of the city died she took temporary control. But 'temporary' apparently didn't mean much to her. She quickly gained complete rule of the Emerald City and then began pressuring us into joining our realms more firmly with hers. Of course Scarecrow saw what she was up to, and we refused. She then began to use magic, something we did not possess, to take our realms by force."

"And the munchkins? They had their own realm." She glanced at Lida, whose face blanched, from anger or grief she could not tell.

"Glinda enslaved them. Some of them became witchmongers, the rest she had killed or driven to mine in the faraway mountains. A few managed to escape, like Lida."

"Witchmongers?"

"Yes, Glinda's followers. They joined her to keep their lives. Not much of a life though, if you ask me. They're her hunters, her closest minions."

Sing hissed in disgust, rubbing his paws as though to rub away some sticky substance. Dorothy studied him for a moment.

"What if you didn't join the witch?"

Tin Man cringed. "Anyone who refused to serve her directly as a hunter or personal attendant was either killed, or forced into slave labor. Seeing how that was most of Oz, we're a land of peasants now."

"But what about you? How did you escape?"

"Scarecrow found an old map of the Wizard's. Before he went, he figured out how to replicate the Wizard's air balloon. It took him years of experimenting in secret. Then it took me years to build it, hidden in the witch of the West's castle. Sing helped, then Lida found us. Finally we were ready, and we came here." He finished his story, and looked at her, his eyes too alight with hope, with expectation.

She sat back in shock. Oz, the land over the rainbow, destroyed? It was impossible. But what was truly impossible was that Tin Man was here, along with Lida the munckin and Sing the winged monkey, asking _her_ to help them. This was insane! Even if this was really real, she had no way to kill a witch. She had killed the witch of the West by splashing water on her, on accident. Did that even work on good witches? Or did good witches become bad witches when they went bad?

But this was madness! She couldn't go to Oz; it didn't exist! But here it was, sitting in front of her. It was too much to comprehend.

"What are you talking about!" Ray was glancing in desperation between her and Tin Man. Of course, he had no idea. He really did think they were mad. "There are no witches! What's Oz? What is this?"

She sighed. How could she explain Oz to someone who had never known it? A perfect world. Not because it had no troubles, because obviously it did. But because it was magnificent, beyond her strangest dreams. The colors. The colors were unbelievable. Her world was drab – black and white – compared to the colors of Oz.

"Oz is – I don't know. A make-believe place. It's – I went there when I was a girl. I met Tin Man there. And Scarecrow, and Lion, and the munckins, and –

"I know! It sounds crazy! Don't look at me like that. I told you it's not something I can explain. But you have to believe me, Ray. I mean, look – a man made of tin, a flying monkey – it's – they're from Oz."

"This is crazy!" He shook his head, jerked up from the table. "You're not right, Dorothy!" He turned on Tin Man. "I don't know who you are, or what – but you need to leave! Now!"

Dorothy rose too. Sing leapt away, chattering, and Lida withdrew under the table to stay out of any altercations between these big people.

"Ray! He's not leaving! He just got here!"

"Then what? Are you going with him to '_Oz_'? It's not real! You can't 'go' there!" He stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief, shock, concern.

He was right. Even if Oz _were_ real, even if she _could_ get there, what could she do? She was not some mighty witchslayer as Tin Man seemed to think. She was just Dorothy Stratford, a housewife from Lawrence, Kansas.

Tin Man was staring at her, his eyes begging. The room had gone silent. But what about Oz? She had to do something to help save the Land Over the Rainbow. She couldn't abandon Oz. She loved Oz. She loved Tin Man. She couldn't let them down.

She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, and nodded. "Ok. I'll go."

Relief spread across Tin Man's face. "Really?"

"Really." She glanced at Ray. Shocked. He looked shocked. Beyond shocked. Utterly lost. Because he thought she had gone mad. Or maybe he had gone mad. Or maybe this was all some crazy dream. Maybe it was.

"What do I need?" she asked. The thud of footsteps drew her attention and she looked just in time to see Ray slam the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

They raced over the frozen field. The balloon lay before them like a shriveled child's toy. They were urgent now. They had purpose. Dorothy still wasn't quite sure what was real, or what she was to do about it, but they were doing something. Tin Man's face was set in grim determination. Lida's legs scrambled beneath her to keep up, the sound of her panting breath chasing behind Dorothy, pushing her forward. Sing swooped ahead and above, like some fell mythical beast. It was all very intense. She almost felt afraid, but not quite.

Sing reached the balloon first to upright the basket. Lida began digging through the fabric to light the flame in the balloon. In a few minutes the fire was roaring hollowly inside its belly. The basket swayed and bobbed against its ties. In the distance the sound of a truck's motor purred.

First Lida, then Tin Man, then Dorothy climbed into the basket. Sing was on the ground jerking up the stakes. Lida was pulling out the map. Tin Man was poking at the fire with his bare hands. Dorothy was watching the truck come closer. It turned off the road into the field and jutted along. It was an old, rusting, muted green. Just like Ray's truck.

"Wait?" Her voice rose, desperate as the man began to tear across the field.

"Wait! Dorothy! Dor! Wait!"

Her heart clutched in her throat, choking her. "Wait, wait, stop!" The basket bounced off the ground, drifted, snagged, leapt again a few yards into the air. Tin Man turned to look, and shouted something to Sing. She couldn't leave him here. It would be the death of her, she swore.

"Ray! Ray! Jump! Come on!" She leaned over, her hips catching her on the edge of the basket, reached out. With a cry he caught her wrists, his watch digging into her skin. His feet kicked, the basket plunged, but it was up now, no going back.

Suddenly there was Sing, and Ray yelped in surprise as his lower half was lifted up by the belt loops in his jeans. He toppled over and crashed in. The basket shuddered. Dorothy landed beneath him in a perfect silver screen missionary position.

He panted, his breath hot and heavy against her cheek, his ribs heaving against hers. She let go of the floor of the basket and gripped the back of his neck and kissed him. He'd come. She wasn't too crazy. She felt giddy with excitement. He would see Oz. He was here. Adrenaline crashed and she laughed breathlessly.

"You came."

He laughed too. "Yeah. I figure if you're crazy I want to be crazy with you."

She laughed again and kissed him again.

* * *

They came out from the sun. They just appeared, out of the pale sun, through the mists that shrouded these mountain peaks. The drakks tracked their path down from the empyrean. They drifted down, closer, into Oz. The largest drakk crouched on its mountain peak and growled a command to its partner on the rock next to it. The balloon fell closer. They could very faintly see movement within. Three full-human sized figures. Two more than had gone out. So perhaps this witchslayer wasn't just the Witch's nightmaring.

With the faintest brushing of wings and shifting of rocks beneath their long clawed feet the drakks lifted up. But if they could see the balloon then the balloon could see them. It began to drop quickly, swooping almost as agilely as a sparrow. But the drakks were faster. They flung up through the sky as though they were climbing a mountain, flinging their wings against the air like bats beating themselves against rocks. Hideous and clumsy to watch, but fast. Terrifyingly fast. "They're coming!" Lida's voice rose from control to a frantic pitch. "Faster, faster, Sing!"

Sing screeched angrily, desperately, as he let out more air from the fire. The balloon kept dropping, not fast enough. Ray and Dorothy stared, enrapt, horrified.

"What are they? Are they dragons?" Ray's voice breathed, shaking.

"They're drakks. Glinda's mongers. Her creations. Faster, Sing!" The monkey wailed. "They've been waiting for us since we left. Who knows long it's been. Months, years, they've been waiting."

The drakks shrieked. They were close enough to make out clearly. They were sliming, nasty salamander things with wings and teeth and claws as long as butcher knives. Ray felt a shudder of sheer horror pass through him. It was his first instinct to scream, to run. They exuded terror.

"Get down!" Tin Man shouted and they dropped as the drakks swept close, their claws raking the air over them. Ray began scrabbling with the anchor ropes. "Stop, stop! You're not helping, you don't know what to do!" croaked Tin Man. "Watch Dorothy!"

His heart swelled like a wet sticking rock in his throat. He whirled, she was cowering on the basket floor where she had fallen. He plunged to her side, reaching the floor of the basket just as it bucked beneath them. Her hand groped for a support, his arm.

"Calm down, it's ok, it's ok!" He thought he said it, but he didn't. The drakk's face filled the space above them. With a scream Lida swung at it, a bolt of lightning spouting from her palm and opening a gash on the drakks's face. Dark blue blood poured over them, so hot it burned. Dorothy screamed. In the frantic meshing of his thoughts Ray wondered what he had just seen. What the hell had just happened. It was forgotten and instant later.

The basket suddenly rose up in the air, on top of one of the drakk's necks. It teetered and Dorothy screamed and Sing leapt out of the balloon before he was burned and Tin Man clutched the ropes and Lida hunkered down. Ray was flung against the side of the basket as it lifted up, tilted. He saw the earth wheeling beneath him, leaning closer and closer. His muscles tensed uselessly as he slid out.

"Ray!" He grabbed the anchor Lida reached out, held on for his life. The basket lurched upright again, sending him against the other wall hard. The drakk had fallen back. The sound of air pouring through fabric hissed around him. The balloon plummeted. Dorothy screamed. Again. Lida did too. He couldn't. He couldn't breathe. What an awful, godforsaken, hateful country.

The basket landed. The balloon collapsed on them, buried them, burst into flame. Hot, hot and airless. He reached for Dorothy, reached for some way out, reached for whatever oxygen might remain. Smoke. Burning smoke.

Then the side of the basket tore open and he tumbled out, half pushed and half pulled. He barely crawled away, his eyes closed. In a moment he would fall over some cliff edge. Dorothy. His limbs sprawled but he didn't move. He lay on his back and coughed.

"Ray! Ray! Get up, come on!" Cold metal hands closed around his arms and hauled him to his feet. He sank but Tin Man jerked him back up. He hacked but Tin Man pulled him forward.

"Dor, Dor," he gasped, his eyes burning as they tried to open and look for her.

"Come on, she's fine. Come on. Ray!"

Something screeched, wailed. He tried to cover his ears at the sound but Tin Man was still dragging him forward. He wrenched his eyes open.

There were rocks everywhere, his feet sliding on their chalky surfaces. Dorothy, where was Dorothy? There, stumbling along with Lida. There were more of her, more of the little people, running about and shouting quietly. He craned his neck around. The balloon lay smoldering on the ground. One of the drakks was dead, its neck and belly sliced over and over again. The smaller one, the one Lida had wounded, was limping away through the sky, its wings torn and shuddering.

One of the munchkins turned and shouted at them in an odd grumbling language. Then he disappeared into a hole in the rocks. The others followed; six other little people. All clad in thick gray lumpy rags. Sing crawled in first, then Lida, helping Dorothy. Tin Man shoved Ray from behind and his knees and elbows banged against the tiny hole. He tumbled in.

"Keep going! Keep going!" Tin Man dragged him up again. He was not especially tall, but the hole was meant for people half his stature. He scraped and crawled and bumped along, trying to force back the growing panic that he was buried and trapped and the hole was getting smaller. It was. He was pressed between Tin Man and a rock and Dorothy. His head was forced down by the ceiling. He reached out for Dorothy's hand and she squeezed it like she would never let go, like she was trying to meld into him.

Someone's bare foot kicked him in the face and he moaned a muffled protest. Then tiny hands were grabbing him by whatever they could and Tin Man was shoving him up. He kicked and wiggled through the hole and barely made it through.

The opening inside was small, but big enough for him to sit down in. The munchkins stood in a semi-circle around him. Dorothy huddled by his side. Sing bounced and panted, his eyes wild. Tin Man clattered up.

"What happened?" Ray gasped through gritted teeth. "What happened back there, with those – things – those drakks? Where did they come from? Who – who are these people?"

"Our saviors," Tin Man said. "They pulled us out of the wreck, killed or drove away the drakks."

They all looked at the four munchkins who stared back, adoration in their huge, dark eyes. Under their stare the munchkins seemed nervous and giddy at once, like teenagers who had suddenly found themselves in the presence of an idol. At once their leader, larger and less shy than the others, spoke.

"I am Gillan. This is Jesper and Arrya. We saw the drakks waiting. For two months they waited for you, so we knew that you would come back. The Good Witch could see and she told them to wait. So we waited too. When we saw you come we buried our Master and ran to find you."

Gillan was quivering with excitement. "You are Dorthy, the witch killer. We knew you would come. You would bring the magic shoes to us and bury the Good Witch." He crossed his forehead with a trembling finger. "Bless her glorious spirit."

Ray stared in disbelief. "But what – what happened? How did you kill drakks? What 'magic shoes'? I thought Glinda was evil."

The munchkins cringed and shied, as though the mountain itself might hear. Gillan crossed his forehead. "We killed drakks with these." He raised his pickaxe, a tool that looked nearly as heavy as he was. "Whenever we find them." He glared at Ray. "Good Tin Man we know, and garden children we know and sky apes we know. And we know Dorthy. But we do _not_ know you."

Ray felt like he'd been rather sternly told to shut up, and since Gillan was still holding the pickaxe, decided it would be prudent to comply. Dorothy stammered.

"M-magic shoes? The slippers? The ruby slippers? I don't have the slippers, of course I don't. It was a dream, you can't take things with you from dreams. They're still in Oz. What – what is this, Tin Man? These people – you've been _waiting _for me? How can you – it's been a hundred years if it ever happened at all! You think – No! We don't know what will happen! We're probably all going to die! You can't believe – " She trailed off at the look on the munchkins' faces. Utter confusion, the first stabbings of panic. Tin Man closed his eyes.

"I should have told you. Oz has made you a legend, a prophecy. That one day the last witch slayer would return and destroy the Evil again."

"Again?" Ray cried, forgetting the pickaxe. "What do you mean again?" He felt desperation rising.

"The last time Dorothy was here she killed the wicked witch of the West. Glinda's arch-rival," Tin Man explained. "We haven't forgotten. How could we not believe?"

"But that was an accident! It was an accident, Tin Man! Scarecrow was on fire and I threw a bucket of water on him and splashed her on _accident_! I'm not a witch slayer! I'm not a legend! You were there! You_ know_ that!"

"But they don't," he said quietly. "They weren't there."

"So you let them believe? How could you? How could you let them put their faith in a lie?"

He looked away. "You have to put your faith in something." His voice trailed off into the silence that settled over them. Slowly Arrya's voice piped tremulously.

"No magic shoes?"

Dorothy scrambled to her knees and out of the hole. Arrya stared, trembled, and burst into tears. Lida rushed to her side. Tin Man didn't move. Ray fell out of the hole after Dorothy.

He could see her shadow against the faint light from the outside, curled like a frightened child against the wall. He could hear her sobbing, the sound muffled in the hole. He slid down to her and wrapped around her. She turned her head into his shoulder, hissing into his shirt.

"We could go back," he murmured. "We could leave."

"How? How, Ray? The balloon is burnt with the map. How on earth would we go back?"

He fell silent, for the first time wondering. His stomach twisted sickeningly. How would they get back? They couldn't stay here forever. This wasn't even a real place! Maybe that was it; maybe this was a nightmare they would wake up from. Unless they died in it first. He wondered if they would die in real life, skewered on drakk's claws in their beds. But there were probably worse things in Oz. Like the witch. The witch. They had to kill the witch. It burned in his mind like a brand. It was the only way they would even survive, much less return home. Maybe they could even make a trade. Let them go home for – for what? Surely this witch wasn't afraid of them. Unless she was like these munchkins and thought Dorothy was some mighty warrior. Then maybe –

It was their best shot. Their only shot. "Dorothy. Dorothy." He shook her. "We can kill the witch."

"What! Are you crazy! Haven't you been listening at _all_!"

"Well if you killed the last one with a bucket of water, how hard can it be?"

For a moment she was silent, tense. He held his breath. Then she laughed. She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears and twisted up in an almost hysterical giggle. He let out his breath in a laugh.

"What? What is so funny?"

"You tripping with a mop bucket and melting Glinda the Wicked Witch of the North."


	2. Chapter 2

She watched. The munchkins smuggled them into carts with merchandise to be born to the Emerald City. They didn't have much of a plan, she knew from their conversation. Get inside the city and get close enough to kill her. But she couldn't watch all of them at once; the glass only showed one scene at a time.

The tin man, Dorothy, and the human man were in the cart while the munchkin and the ape walked alongside. They blended in well; there were plenty of freaks in Oz.

"What do they expect they will do? Kill me with their bare hands?" She laughed her to her attendant. Her voice fell flatly and she looked back at the glass. Dorothy. The trickle of fear that had been seeping through her veins for a hundred years turned to a steady pulse. She had killed the witch of the West, a feat Glinda had never succeeded at. With the witch of the West gone – her rival, her superior, she grudged – it was easy to take Oz. But Dorothy had killed the witch, and Glinda did not know how. The Ozians whispered in their sleep of a witch more powerful than had ever ruled Oz. Powerful enough to overthrow Glinda.

She closed her eyes, breathed. For now it was Dorothy hiding in a cart of stinking vegetables. If she did possess such fabled powers, she had chosen not to reveal them. If they wished to come to the Emerald City, let them come. This was her realm, her loyal court. She would make this place their hell.

She whispered a breath against the glass and the image changed. Darkness blurred the edges. She could barely make out the shapes of a room.

"Raabe!" she spoke into the glass. The darkness shifted, a thick shadow rising from its depths. The creature was huge, like a horse, and shapeless. "They come." The shapeless thing growled and swelled. "We will let them come. Bring them as visitors into our fair city."

Her lips twisted up. Raabe hissed his approval and the darkness swirled. Then he was gone. The glass was white again, reflecting. She sat back, staring into herself. Let them come.

* * *

It was dark, hot, and stuffy. They'd been riding for nearly a week, stowed away in a munchkin cart. She knew they were not hiding from Glinda, but Ray didn't know, and the darkness made her _feel_ almost safe. Burlap tarps scratched above and below them and vegetables weighed down above and below the tarps.

Some part of Tin Man, warm and moist like a canteen of water left in the sun, brushed occasionally against her arm. On the other side was Ray, perfectly still except for the sound of his breathing when claustrophobia got to him. Sometimes it got to her too; the feeling that they would never be out. She wanted to talk to him. But she knew she had to stay silent. Besides, she could feel he was asleep, not tense like usual.

She drifted down into the rocking of the road beneath them and the incessant sound of the wood creaking around them. She was almost gone.

_Crack!_ All three of them sprawled into a tangle of limbs as the cart lurched to the side, a desperate attempt to turn around on a narrow and rutted road. She heard the muffled sounds of shouting, the screech of a monkey. Ray shoved up against the immobile weight above them. He was breathing too fast. She knew he couldn't stand being trapped.

"Ray!" she hissed, her hand wiggling out to find his slick with sweat. The cart lurched again. It was hard to breathe, even with the ventilation burrowed through the walls. She could feel her own heart starting to drum madly.

"What is – " A scream rent the air and the front end of the cart dropped, cracking against the ground. Tin Man crashed into her. Ray swore.

She could hear the sound of digging above them and an instant later the tarp flung off, letting in blinding light. What a stupid plan. The witchmongers looked like grotesque crossbreeds between munchkins and amphibians. She gasped at the cold sliming moistness of their hands on her. They dragged her out, cackling at her shrieking and her struggling.

There were dead munchkins on the ground. Lida was being forced to the ground by three witchmongers. They could barely hold her. A strange silver light, like the sharp edges of fireworks, seemed to spit out occasionally from her hands. Some witchmonger devilry, she thought as they creatures shrieked at the sparks. Sing. A black patch rapidly disappearing against the blue sky.

Then her vision flipped as the witchmonger slung her to the ground. Her head slammed against the hard-packed road, sending ragged spots over her eyes. She twisted away but the witchmonger was too heavy. Cold iron clamped onto her wrists, ankles, and neck, and jerked her to her feet again. It seemed amazing they could move so quickly for such large creatures. Lida, Ray, and Tin Man stood strung out behind like slaves on a chain gang. The Emerald City glistened on the horizon.

* * *

Raabe and his mongers brought them in shackled neck to neck, lined up in a row before her. All except the ape. The cursed ape. But her drakks would soon find him.

They were a pitiful group. She felt her confidence broaden at the sight of Dorothy's limp body; this was no great witch. And to defend her? A rusting tin man, a garden munchkin, and the pathetic thing she assumed was Dorothy's mate. They were all bruised and bloodied from her Raabe's whips. Her hunters did get so excited on a chase. Why had she ever worried?

She smiled. "Welcome. To Oz. Back to Oz. What a pleasure to see you again, Dorothy. And this must be – " She looked at the man. No answer was forthcoming. She flicked her wand and fire splattered at his feet. He jumped, yelping. Dorothy uttered a cry of alarm.

"Ray! Ray Stratford," he gasped.

"Hmmm. You amuse me Ray Stratford." She laughed coldly. "But perhaps some other time. Raabe, why don't you take our guests to their quarters? I haven't had time to plan our reception dinner. I'm sure you'll all be quite comfortable."

Raabe cackled and Glinda watched as he jerked his prisoners forward. They made not a sound. It was almost infuriating, how little they protested. But as the last passed, the munchkin, she felt her skin crawl. Her eyes, smoldering, flashed across Glinda's. There was something beyond even the purist hate in that gaze. She would have to be the first to go. Even as the thought crossed her mind Glinda forced it from her presence. She had defeated Oz's last hope without even exerting herself. She would not fear a garden munchkin.

* * *

Sing shook the rain off his wings and crawled out from his hiding place in the hollow of a dead tree. Thick dark clouds swirled in the sky above him. He wondered if this was a trick of the witch's, or just bad weather. If it _was_ a witch trick, it had backfired. The drakks had lost sight of him in the grayness; he blended well. But they would not dare return without their quarry, so he stayed cautiously hidden. He could only hope that the witch was not too worried about him, and was not hunting him with her magic. He was a good hider, but he couldn't hide from magic.

He looked about his hiding place. The dead tree lay on the edge of the forest just beyond the Emerald City. He could see the city's towers in the distance, the usually scintillating green a murky grayish shade. Somewhere in its depths were his only friends in the world. For all he knew they were dead by now. But if they were dead, then it was up to him. He knew he couldn't give up. It would be better to die a martyr with the people he loved than to live a coward in hiding. But how? What could he do? How could he even get into the city?

He was small, he was quick, he was smart, and he was practically a witchmonger already. His great-great-grandfather had served the witch of the West. His own mother had fallen to Glinda's trickery, and had served as a scout in her army until she was killed. Perhaps he could walk straight into the city. But no, they were on the lookout for him. But the city was large and the streets complex. Maybe he could just slip in over the walls. He looked down on the road into the city. Every so often a cart or a group of Ozians would pass through the gates, and every so often others would pass out. The city may have been ruined, but it was still the center and capital of Oz. Maybe he could hide in one of these. But surely they were checked before they entered. What he needed was a diversion.

Suddenly he knew. But where was he going to get a balloon? He crept along the forest floor toward the road. There he crouched in the thick weeds and brush that tangled on the roadside, and waited. Day turned into night, not that there was much change in the level of light. Still he waited, slept restlessly. Another day came. Today had to be the day. He couldn't wait any longer. If Lida and Tin Man, even Dorothy and Ray, were still alive, then every second took them only closer to their end.

Then, at last, the carriage passed by. He could see the fabrics spilling over the sides. Silks and cottons and muslins of all different colors. This was valuable cargo. The munchkin who guarded it was bigger than most and his cart pony was swift. The cart swayed and rumbled down the road with a sense of urgency. But for now, they were alone; there was no one to watch. He scanned the sky, and then leapt into it.

At the sight of his flurrying wings the munchkin jumped, startled. But he was not quick enough to anticipate the blow that followed. Sing swung the branch he held and felt it land solidly against the munchkin's head. He slumped over and Sing landed next to him and pulled the pony to a stop. Fearfully he checked the munchkin's throat. He didn't want to kill him; he prayed he hadn't killed him. A pulse throbbed steadily beneath Sing's leathery fingers. The munchkin was out cold, but he would wake in a few hours no worse off than a nasty headache and a fuzzy memory of his winged attacker.

Sing steered the pony and cart off the road and into the woods. Desperately he rummaged through the fabrics, pulled out yard after yard of colorful cloth. All day he worked, roughly stitching the pieces together with the sturdy thread and needle he had found in the tailor's pack, and fitting them around a frame of branches. When he had his balloon he roped it to one of the baskets the munchkin had carried his wares in. Now for fire, the trickiest part.

He wrenched the metal caps from the wagon wheels and strung them from the top edge of the basket. Then he packed the platform with cloth and doused it with the contents of the munchkin's whiskey bottle. It was finished. A sorry excuse for a hot air balloon, the best he could manage. It stood about as tall as a human, lopsided and precarious. His heart sank. It would never fly. It had taken months to build the balloon that had taken them to Kansas. Still he had to try. It was this or practically throw himself into the witch's hands.

He dragged the contraption out to the road. It was late in the afternoon and no one was on the road. The city loomed in the near distance. He could see a pair of drakks patrolling the skies above the city. Good, they would be watching.

He rummaged through the munchkin's bag once again and came up with a box of matches. Apparently the fellow had been on a journey long enough to call for a fire at some point. He glanced at the creature's still form. He was lucky the munchkin was still out, but his unconsciousness was becoming restless. He would have to hurry.

He struck a match against the wagon wheel hubs and a spark leapt onto the sodden cloth. Flame flared up, threatening to engulf the balloon. But it didn't. The fabric hissed billowed, expanded. The basket lifted. It was up! Sing gaped as the contraption rose, wavered, soared upward.

The drakks shrieked when they saw it, and Sing shook himself out of his wonder. Run. He tore back into the forest, watched from the trees as the city, as the witch herself, looked up. And in that moment he knew that all her eyes were focused on that one sight.

Then the drakks came, shooting out from the city like flares. Every eye in the entire city was trained on the balloon. Now. Now or never. In a matter of moments the drakks would reach the balloon, would discover that it was only a ruse, would realize his trickery. By then he would be in the city.

He shot out, flying low across the grey earth. The dark weather was still on his side. The drakks had passed him, about twenty of them, surging toward the balloon. Sing pushed harder, shooting up to the city walls. Up and over. His body pressed against he bricks. Pure emerald, smooth as glass. Now he was in the most danger. His black wings slid against the stone, up and up. From a distance he would look like a giant spider scaling the wall. But no one saw him. He was over, skimming down to the city streets.

The streets were dark, twisting, but he knew them. He had grown up in this city. His mother had become a witchmonger before he was born. She had died when he was young and he had been raised in one of the witch's "schools": training grounds for her future servants. He had hated it, and he had run. But a winged ape wasn't quickly accepted in Oz. He had lived in hiding, barely staying alive, for almost a year. Then Lida had found him. She had brought him to Tin Man and they had given him a home. But he still knew the city like the back of his hand.

He knew the dungeons were near the center. They were a labyrinth of cells and corridors, several stories beneath the earth. He had only been in once, a school tour to convince students of the imprudence of disobeying the Queen. The dungeons were well guarded, but they were also strung with a confusing maze of tunnels that served as ventilation. It was the only way in, and surely the only way out.

He raced through the streets, hugging close to the walls. Time was of the essence; by now the drakks had reached the empty basket. They would be furious, beginning their search of the woods, realizing that he might already be in the city. But now he was near the center of the city. He could see the enormous stone structure that was the upper stories of the dungeons. Dorothy, Ray, Tin Man, and Lida would be deep in its belly. From the street corner he could see a pair of guards before the thick wood doors into the prison. But they were distracted, excited, their eyes trailing the sky. He skirted down the street, searching for an orifice in the building. There, close to the ground, a round, grated tunnel, just broad enough him to slip through.

Inside was dark, cold, damp. His wings squeezed close to his body, his feet slid across the algae slick tunnel. He felt his pulse pounding in his temples, pressing against the back of his eyes. Panic closed in his throat. He shouldn't be down here, this wasn't right. Steady. Focus. He forced his way through. His body blocked all light and all sound from the outside, but the stuffy air in the tunnel was thick with smells.

To the right came the mingled scents of barley beer, vomit, and witchmonger. The prison barracks. Down and forward was the stomach churning scent of sweat, waste, and decay. Down he went. Sliding and wriggling deeper into the darkness, into the stench. But he was searching. He knew Lida and Tin Man's smells like his own.

He lost time. It seemed like eternity. Panic began rising again in his chest. He had no idea where they were, where he was. He could be trapped in here. The air became thicker the deeper he went, harder to breathe. Slowly the tunnel was slanting downward. Dozens of tunnels branched off from the one he was on, but something kept drawing him forward. Instinct. He had to believe it was something drawing him downward on this path.

Suddenly he felt a change in the air, an opening at his feet. He jerked to a stop, his fingers curled around the edge, he slipped forward. His wings pounded open against the walls, desperate. He felt the tunnel open beneath, braced himself against the three walls around him. The only way was straight down.

Down he went, bracing himself against the walls. Every few feet he would pass an opening, but he skipped over them. They were down. As far down as he could go. He could feel his wrists and ankles trembling from the strain. But he couldn't stop. If he stopped he knew he would die here, trapped in the underworld of the underworld. And Tin Man and Lida would die too. If he wasn't too late. He scrabbled downward.

Suddenly he heard it. The distant sound of singing sent chills through his wings. It was Lida. His heart lurched forward and he plunged downward. Left, right, down and down. He could smell them now, thick with blood and despair. But Lida was singing. She was alive. Good Lida! He banged against the grill, hissing frantically.

Lida's fingers curled through the grill. "Sing," she whispered.

"Are you unguarded? Are their soldiers in the room?"

"No, they're outside the door."

"Sshhh! Sing?" It was Tin Man.

"Are you chained? How many guards?"

"No, just one. Sing – "

He wrenched at the grate. It rattled, shifted.

"He'll hear you!"

Sing gritted his teeth, the points digging into his gums. He threw his weight against the grill. Lida caught it before it could clatter against the stone floor. They froze, listening, but there was no sound from the other side of the cell door. Sing looked in. Four haggard faces turned to his, wide with shock and desperation. Sing's stomach churned. They'd been beaten, even Tin Man, his sides dented and scratched. They wouldn't make it. It had been hard enough for him, and he was still strong. But it was the only way out.

"Come on then, follow me. It's tight, but if I can fit with these things on my back, then so can you. It's straight up for about a hundred feet, but then it's pretty flat. That will be the hardest. Come on. Bigger ones last. Let's go!" He slid back into the tunnel and a moment later felt Lida behind him. Upward. Up was harder. They wouldn't make it. They had to. After a few yards he could feel that they were all in. But Tin Man. He clattered against the sides of the stone tunnels. He would be heard. There was no way they wouldn't hear him.

"Faster!" he hissed, and leapt upward.

But they had been heard, they had been missed. He could hear the muffled shouting of the witchmonger below. They were too high up for him, and he was too afraid to climb after them. They might make it yet. There were hundreds of tunnels, dozens of vents to the outside. They might even run into the city's sewage, and then they would have a straight shot to the outside. Why hadn't he thought of it before? But he didn't know if they needed to go up or down, left or right, to meet the main tunnel network that ran beneath the city. The whole place smelled like sewage.

Up and up. He could feel the change in the air though; they were nearing the bend in the tunnel. Only a few more yards. Suddenly he stopped. What was that? Dorothy let out a faint protest at the sudden stop. Someone grabbed his tail and he flinched. Silence again. There. A faint hissing. Then the sound of shouting below. There were more of them in the cell, waiting. Waiting for them to fall.

Something twitched inside his nose. What was it? The pain hit him before the scent did, driving like shards of glass in his mouth, his nose, his throat. He gasped, felt it sear through his lungs. They'd filled the tunnel with gas. His hands instinctively flew to his face, rubbing, scratching, desperate to remove the irritant. He slid down and felt Lida beneath him. She was coughing hard, her body wracking. They were sliding down, back to the witchmongers.

"Get out! Follow me! Follow me!" he cried, and dug his claws into the algae-slick walls. He twisted into a side tunnel, felt Lida scramble in behind him. He could hear Ray retching. But there was no stopping. The gas was seeping in after them, driving them forward.

Suddenly the tunnel buckled and cracked beneath them. Sing lurched forward. Tin Man shouted.

"It's magicked! She's found us!"

"Go! Go! Faster!" Sing sprang forward, felt the tunnel breaking open beneath him. He spread his wings just before he hit the ground, barely slowing his descent. He heard the others hitting the ground behind him, Tin Man's crash, Dorothy's sharp cry of pain. He scrambled to his feet.

They were in one of the dark prison corridors. This one was wide, the floor and walls stone, torchlight flickering on the walls. He heard shouting in the corridor, saw witchmongers gathering behind them and along the walls around them, their claws bared and weapons raised. Then he saw her. The Witch.

* * *

Lida lay gasping on the floor. Pain shot through her hips when she moved, but she forced herself upright. She could smell the hot, rotting breath of the witchmongers, feel the chill of the Witch's power. Desperately she looked to her companions. Sing crouched low, defensive, against the stone floor. Tin Man lay in a heap, staring up at the Witch. Ray clutched his arm, his face pale from the pain. Dorothy. She lay motionless.

"What is this!" The Witch's voice rose to a shriek. "How did they escape? No one escapes my dungeons! Who was their guard?" She spun, her eyes piercing through the crowd of cowering witchmongers, fixing on one huddled in the back. Her fingers twitched madly, her eyes grew black. The witchmonger began to melt, curdling and shrieking. Lida tore her eyes away, fixing them in terror on the Witch.

"You! I should have never trusted those worthless creatures! I should have come after you myself!" She turned her black gaze on Sing and he flattened against the floor, his wings twitching in agony.

"No!" Lida sprang forward, breaking the Witch's gaze for only a moment before she forced back. Sing lay still. The Witch's fury had risen beyond control. She lashed out again, this time at Tin Man. His body jerked into the air, his metal twisting, crushing. Lida lunged to his side as his body hit the ground. His chest gaped open, empty, his magicked soul slipping out. The world closed in around her, pressing her in, only in, to him.

"Tin Man." She clutched his mangled hand. From some muffled distance she heard Ray screaming for Dorothy. Tin Man. Her only father. She needed him. It was too much. Too much.

His fingers twitched against hers. His last voice whispered in her ear. "I love you." She choked, lay her forehead on his shoulder. "I have to believe you can get out, Lida. I've seen you practicing."

"I can't! I can't, I'm not strong enough, I'm not ready. Dorothy was our only hope."

"No, Lida. I lied to you. Dorothy never killed the wicked witch of the West. She was just a girl, younger than you. She wasn't the last hope. You are. Come on. Try your best." He pressed his cold lips to her temple in a gesture he could never master in life, but did in death.

"Ha! Cling to that wad of scrap metal. Cry, cry," the Witch mocked. "All your friends are dead, or will be. Crying is all you have left. And to think you trusted in such a puppet as her." Dorothy's body twitched like some morbid marionette, a low moan escaping her lips. Dread tightened in Lida's chest. So death really was terrifying. But no, there was something else blooming inside her like a tree too large for the pot it had been placed in. It seeped out, pushing, forcing. It would burst out and shatter the pot if it was not contained.

The Witch laughed, and wriggled her fingers at her. Pain shot through Lida's chest, tearing her apart. But the tree burst out, forcing away all else. The Witch stumbled back, shock spreading over her face. Lida towered to her feet, impossibly tall. The witchmongers shrank back, scattered. The Witch raised her hands and Lida pushed out. She felt a jolt as their magic met, intertwined, fought to overbalance each other. She had rarely used violent magic before, only on the occasional drakk or witchmonger, and never with much success. But never had she felt such murderous fury pulsing through her. Her magic flared, erupted, so hot she could see its pale red lines as it traced through the air. Slowly it inched forward, pushing back the Witch's line.

But suddenly the Witch pushed back. Lida slammed against the wall, felt the rocks crushing against her back. Her magic faltered, waned, flickered out. The torch light dimmed, snuffed out. Only the slowing rush of her blood in her ears. Death wasn't terrifying at all, once you got to it. It was like falling asleep, the place between consciousness and dreams, where reality blended with nonsense.

She could hear Tin Man talking to her, but couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Bright flashes of color, light, pictures, flashed past her. The silhouette of Sing flying across the sun. The hot air balloon flaring above her. The house – lifted by a twisting pillar of clouds – dropped down upon the Witch.

The world shook around her, the ceiling burst open. Just one cracked segment, dropped upon her head, was enough to kill the Witch, who had not been expecting the roof to fall in. Lida slid down the wall, exhausted but whole.

Ding Dong. The Witch was dead.

* * *

Oz was in mourning, but Oz was rejoicing. One of their greatest heroes had fallen, but they were free at last.

Tin Man was buried in the woods he had loved, with an axe and an apple in his hands. Sing's wings had been mended by Lida's magic, as well as Ray's arm. There was still much work to be done. The munchkins to be returned to their homes; the Emerald City to be purged of the evil that still fouled it; the witchmongers to be forgiven or driven beyond the deserts. A new balloon to be built for Dorothy and Ray to return to Kansas.

But Lida decided to surprise them. So while they slept she tried something she wasn't sure she could do. It was strange watching someone disappear. One moment they were there, and the next – had she blinked? – they were gone. She smiled at their empty bed. There was no place like home.

* * *

Dorothy blinked awake at the sunlight sliding through a crack in their bedroom curtains. What a strange dream. It was already becoming fuzzy. But she remembered Tin Man. She smiled softly. Good Tin Man. She stretched, pulling the blankets off Ray. He moaned, shifting, then sat up.

"I had the weirdest dream," he yawned.

"Really? Me too. You first."

He grinned. "It's weird. There was this man made of tin, and a flying monkey, and a midget, and – we went to some place and fought this evil Witch, and – "

They looked at each other. "Your watch," she whispered. He grabbed for it on the dresser, but it was already on his wrist. 11:13


End file.
